


A storm destroys your uncle's shed and kills his six-year-old son. Describe the color of the sky right before the storm hit.

by HansonPhreek



Series: 642 Things to Write [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Storms, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7723333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HansonPhreek/pseuds/HansonPhreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione remembers the worst day of her childhood before Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A storm destroys your uncle's shed and kills his six-year-old son. Describe the color of the sky right before the storm hit.

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but this story. I make no money from it.

It had been tragic. Unexpected. The storm had come through so fast, so suddenly, and had destroyed so much. A clear path of destruction. My family had lost our home, but my uncle had lost his son. No one knew how to rebuild all that had been taken from us.

I remember that day clearly. I'd been playing in the yard with my cousin. Our parents were watching from the back porch. The sky was such a vibrant blue. Perfect in every way. No clouds; just an endless field of the prettiest blue imaginable. My cousin and I were playing hide-and-seek. I lay in the grass, counting, as I gazed into the vast blue above me.

Then too much happened at once. There was too much wind, too much darkness, too many voices screaming our names. I ran, looking back to see my cousin suddenly trapped in the shed. I reached my parent's arms, but my cousin couldn't follow. My uncle rushed forward, but the shed was gone before he could reach it.

I sobbed into my mother's shoulder. When I looked up again the storm was gone. The sky a clear blue again. I turned to look out over the yard and cried out for my cousin. A hand on my shoulder. My father's voice, “Hermione.” Words seemed to fail him. More tears. Everyone cried. No one could move for hours.

Eventually we tried to return home. There was nothing left. What we would do next, no one knew. Time passed slowly. We mourned. We moved. I grew up. My cousin never got the chance. Whenever the sky is that same peaceful blue I wonder what he would have become.

I miss him still.


End file.
